Read Online Top O' the Mournin' by Maddy Hunter - Free Book Online

real nice pictures.” She whipped a half-dozen or more out of her bag. “Here’s that pretty stone cottage that was built so close to the road in that one little village. I thought the thatched roof and all the window boxes were nice touches.
    “Here’s the hole in the cottage after we took out all its window boxes when we cut the corner too close.
    “Here’s the hole in the bus after the window boxes took out our side mirror.
    “Here’s the mirror lyin’ in the gutter after we backed over it.
    “This is a good one a Ashley. This is where she’s waggin’ her finger in Michael’s face, callin’ him a moron. Look how pretty her nails are. I wouldn’t mind havin’ my nails done up like that sometime.
    “Here’s that pretty stone fence that circled the pub where we ate lunch.”
    Her next photo showed a shiny sculpture twisted into a series of sinuous angles and curves. “This is different,” I observed. “I don’t remember seeing this.”
    “That’s a closeup of the bus’s rear fender after we rammed the stone fence. Here’s another good one a Ashley. This is where she’s standin’ next to the fence callin’ Michael a stupid twit.”
    I was pretty sure she’d called him a stupid shit, but Nana’s hearing isn’t what it used to be.
    “This last one didn’t come out too good ’cause we were goin’ by too fast. Can you make out that crumpled thing on the pavement there? That’s the door we sheared off the car that was stopped in the middle a the road when we rounded that blind curve.”
    I’d found it odd that the driver had left his vehicle with the door wide open on an unshouldered road boxed in by hedgerows. You had to figure it was a cultural thing. Americans liked their cars without roofs. The Irish preferred theirs without doors.
    Nana shook her head. “Poor Michael. He seems to be havin’ a run a bad luck on the road. Speakin’ a which—” She lowered her voice. “Bernice tells me you got some real whiners back where you’re sittin’. How’d you survive the day?”
    I mined my skirt pocket and opened my palm. “I remembered I had these in my shoulder bag.”
    Nana squinted at the two short rubberized tubes that were the circumference of No. 2 pencils. “Erasers?”
    “Earplugs. Once I got them in, I couldn’t hear a thing.”
    Nana held up the earplugs with jealous regard. “You think it’d be okay to use these in my nose? There’s an awful smell in that bus and I didn’t think to bring nose plugs.”
    “It’s the driver,” said Tilly Hovick, joining us. “Unlike the rest of us, he doesn’t feel the need to disguise his natural body odor with artificial sprays, colognes, and deodorants. I find it entirely refreshing. A man living outside the strictures of convention. He’s to be admired.”
    I didn’t agree with her about the body odor thing, but I thought it was pretty admirable that a guy who demonstrated no skill at driving or reading maps could land a job where his primary responsibility was to drive and read maps.
    Tilly handed me an envelope. “Ashley asked me to give you your room key.”
    I peered over Nana’s head toward the crowd that was rapidly dispersing in the lobby. “Has anyone seen Etienne?”
    “He volunteered to help Michael unload the luggage from the bus,” said Nana. “Ashley said there weren’t no bellmen on duty tonight.”
    Okay. This wasn’t so bad. I’d have time to run to my room and freshen up before he came knocking at my door.
    “Refresh my memory,” asked Tilly. “Etienne is the black-haired mesomorph with the stunning blue eyes. Is that right?”
    I wasn’t sure what the correct definition of mesomorph was, but I suspected it might be anthropological for “stud muffin.” “Right,” I said.
    “There’s another interesting specimen on the tour,” Tilly continued. “Have you noticed? A young woman with exquisitely applied makeup and huge feet. I don’t see her right now, but her skeletal structure and musculature